


In the wilderness

by BurntOrange



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-06-01 03:54:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6499777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BurntOrange/pseuds/BurntOrange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hijacked on the road by the Hound, Sansa is quick to accept the new plot twist in her life and embraces her new position with the dignity and grace she has always carried with her.</p><p>*on hiatus*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Finding our roles

**Author's Note:**

> To be quite honest, I am trying to force myself to write again, and have a few san/san scenes in my head that I am hoping will turn into a story.  
> If anyone is interested in beta-ing/embarking on a creative partnership, please let me know.  
> yours always,  
> BurntO

**THEN **

He had laughed a barking laugh when he saw her, effectively silencing the room. Her eyes had recognized him only moments before. He was there. Of course, somehow, he had been there. 

Her two guards hadn't know what to do when he called her over with such authority. She had known the moment their eyes met that he would not let her go; that she had a new keeper, protector, benefactor, master, owner. Her guards had been slower to catch on. 

When he had called her over again, more forcefully, her guards had taken on protective stances and showed two inches of steel apiece. 

Sansa hadn't taken her eyes off of Sandor as he stood and began to walk towards her.

“Don't.” She had directed her men, firmly and emotionlessly. “He'll kill you.” Slowly they had re-sheathed their swords. “Run.” 

Sandor had laughed again, his laugh not mirthless, but not unserious. Everyone in the room had had a hand on their weapon at that point. Except the two of them, now only feet apart. 

“Don't.” He had warned her men, though he had spoken only to her. “I'll catch you.” He met her emotionless stare. “Sit.” 

**NOW** 

It was over a week on the road before they found the little inn; the worse for ware, but apparently still in business. The dirty old inn keeper greeted them out in the courtyard, and as with all the people they met on the road, immediately recognized Sandor as the leader of the small band. The old man bowed his welcome and gave direction as to where horses and gear could be stored.

Sandor acknowledged the man with only a nod, which sufficed to also send his men towards the stables without discussion. He easily slid off of Stranger and turned to Sansa, who quietly waited for his assistance to dismount gracefully. The moment her feet touched the ground, Sansa gave Sandor a quick and thankful smile and turned to the innkeeper. Without missing a beat she began to give direction for the heating of water and the preparation of the evening meal. With one quick look in Sandor's direction to confirm that he would indeed have to take orders from this woman, the old man hurried to comply. 

When they entered the inn, two girls around the age of ten were brusquely instructed to do as the Lady said, so that the old man could go kill a chicken and bring in some vegetables. Sansa took mental note of the ragged clothing the girls wore and then rolled up her sleeves as she directed them to show her to the kitchen and point out the bathing tubs behind the inn. 

After two men respectively had bathed in each of the two tubs the inn owned, Sansa insisted both be refilled with clean water for Sandor and herself to bathe. She did it herself, as the innkeeper pulled the girls away to prepare soup for their guests. Sandor paid the innkeeper an nonnegotiable amount and then entered his bath as Sansa went to the stables to take what she needed from the packs. 

Sandor raised an eyebrow when Sansa appeared in the dining room for only a few moments. She took a few bites of soup, clearly still not having bathed herself, and then disappeared again, taking the two young girls with her. The innkeeper tried to argue at this abduction, but a few quick words from Sandor, and a chuckle from a few of his men, silenced the old man. 

They had all settled down around the fire with tankards of ale when Sansa reappeared, bathed and changed into one of her nicer gowns, the two girls trailing behind her. The girls had also clearly bathed, and were appareled in white cotton dresses, quite unlike the rags they had worn before. 

Sansa settled herself very matter-of-factly on a chair and directed one of the girls to stand in front of her as she pinned the newly made dress into a better fit. The girls looked nervously around the room at the men and at their master, the innkeeper, but Sansa ignored everyone else and spoke soothingly as she made her adjustments to the rough garments. 

Sandor surveyed the activity neutrally. “Woman, I paid good money to buy you a new dress and the first scamps you meet you're cutting up the old ones?” 

Sansa smiled patiently in his direction. “You stole it anyways.” she answered, eyes back on her work. 

“I bought that dress!” he insisted. 

“Yes, but you stole the money.” She replied, eyes on her work and a smile on her lips. 

Eventually, she deemed the girl's dresses to be sufficient and sent them away with loving caresses. She then left the room to retrieve her hair brushes, and found a seat closer to the fire. There she undid her hasty braid and shook out her hair, drying it before the flames and brushing it methodically.  
The game of cards being played paused organically for a moment to watch her amber waves ripple in the firelight.

Sandor tore his eyes away to ask the innkeeper, who had positioned himself nervously in a corner, if he had a bottle of wine stashed away somewhere. Sandor followed him to locate it and returned the shy smile Sansa gave when he offered her a filled glass. 

The men made merry with their cards and drinking games, happy to be resting with a proper roof over their heads again. Sandor joined in for two games of dice, but then excused himself. When he stood from the table, Sansa took her cue, rising to take his arm and follow him up the stair to the room that had been provided for them.


	2. Easing in

*********  
THEN   
*********   
They had sat at a corner table and tankards had been brought for Sansa's guards and one for herself. “Wine” she had instructed the serving girl politely, before her tankard was carried back to the kitchen by the flustered young woman. 

“So, where were you taking her?” Sandor had asked the guards, though he continued to make eye contact with Sansa. 

“To Lord Stannis Baratheon.” The captain had finally replied, still surveying Sandor nervously as he took a sip of the ale. 

“Stannis and his army are dead, two weeks ago.” Sandor informed them neutrally. The two guards exchanged looks. 

“Then we are to take her to Lord Bolton.” The captain answered. “We must burn the letter to Stannis.” He murmured in thought. 

Any other woman would have rolled her eyes at how slowly the men had come to comprehend the Hound's intentions. Sansa had instead accepted the wine and a basket of rolls from the serving girl with a smile and sipped and picked at both, ignoring the men. Sandor had perceived her frustration regardless of her courtesy and smiled ironically.

“You go ahead and do that.” He had lazily answered the captain, unasked, before he turned his attention back to Sansa. “And how are you grown since last I saw you, Lady Stark?” 

“In years and disappointments, if no longer in height.” She had informed him with a polite smile. “Where shall I find my rest, Lord Clegane?” 

“My room is the second door on the right at the top of the stairs.” He had answered. 

“Tell them what it is that you expect.” She had requested of Sandor. “They have done as they were ordered and protected me. Send them on their way.” With that she had risen, curtsied to the two guards, and left. The eyes of everyone in the room had followed her up the stairs. 

*******  
NOW  
*******

In bed, their bodies quickly found their way to one another. No sooner had she laid down, but he was on her, hands everywhere, demanding her attention. She decided it was time again to claim some of what she wanted. She returned his passion with a few kisses; indicating that she was not rejecting his affections, but then redirected his large hands from their roaming of her body to clasping her own. She drew back also from his many frantic kisses, forcing him to pause a moment.

When he tried to reignite the frantic lovemaking he had initiated with several thrusts of his hips against her body, she turned her face away from his and waited, body still. He tore one of his hands from hers and used it to grasp her chin and turn her head. She complied with steady eye contact and a smile, and a tender brush of her lips against his.

“Gently, my lord.” She requested in a whisper. 

Sandor scowled for a moment, but then lay on his side to make room as she repositioned herself. Sansa readjusted her body over his and lovingly caressed his chest as she kissed him firmly. Reaching between them, she cleared the impediment of further clothing and guided him into her with little fanfare. 

Filled with his manhood, she moved against him with her eyes closed, focusing on the comfort and confidence of her actions. Eventually, she sat back so that he could reach deeper into her and released her head back, shaking her hair out as she rode him. 

His calloused hands clutched her hips as she rocked against him and he struggled to let go of control of the situation. He lay back and closed his eyes, hoping this would help him to release control. It did not become easier, but in the struggle he found satisfaction, allowing her to set the pace and guide their movement. 

When he came it was as good as always, and the tone of her moans was new and empowering to him.


	3. Chapter 3

****   
THEN  
****

That first night in bed together had been awkward and filled with years of pent up frustration. 

For her, it had been the fruition of a sexual tension she perceived in over half of the men who looked upon her. It was the outcome she had always feared, but was almost relieved to roll past. Their lovemaking had been her acceptance of another altered course; a new man controlling her life. 

For him, it had been the awkwardness of the girl of his fantasies becoming the woman in his bed. It had been the God's laughing at his periods of contention between the value of obedience to others and following his own code. 

For both it had been an act of inevitability. 

She had been a virgin, but this act of “deflowerment” was not actually new, acquainted as she was to intrusion and disillusionment. More than anything else, it had been the tenderness of his caresses that were more new and foreign to her than the sex. And it had been intimidating in it's newness. He had asked repeatedly if she was alright, whether or not he was hurting her, and she hadn't known how to respond. 

As he had driven into her, again and again, their sweat mingling, he had murmured her praises to the night air. Compliments to her beauty, yes, but also to her kindness, her skill, her tenderness and her purity. She had accepted on sight his desire for her, but it was his reverence that had given her pause. 

** **   
NOW  
** ** 

 

Sandor decided they would spend a full day at the inn to repair their gear, before taking to the road again. He communicated this decision at breakfast to the four men who now followed him, and Sansa, his enlisted companion. 

Everyone was glad to hear they would have some respite from the tough pace the younger Clegane brother typically set. 

The Inn Keeper was also glad for the extra coin that Sandor deposited in his palm after breakfast. 

The old man was less glad when Sansa instructed the two girls to join her at the hearth after breakfast and he was left to clear the table and wash up by himself. Sansa collected mending from the men and unconcernedly began to assess the needlework skills of the girls. She set them to work and lovingly guided them with subtle corrections. 

As the men saw to the weapons and horse's tack, Sandor sat down with a map and supply list and prepared for the next leg of their journey. 

They were headed to Clegane Keep. The Lannisters were otherwise occupied (all of Westeros was otherwise occupied) and so Sandor believed he could return to the Hall of his family and claim it. No one would have the time or energy to oppose him. All the same, he wanted to get west as soon as possible and move along the coast to avoid unwanted attention. 

There was no area clear of those who held a grudge against him, but he particularly wanted to avoid the Eyrie and King's Landing. 

He looked up from his maps to see Sansa directing the girls. She was a good teacher, and gentle. It came naturally to her, and so others often did not realize they were being taught. Last night he had known it a little more explicitly. 

He went back to his work. When he rose, she rose as well and followed him outside. Out in the courtyard he stretched and leaned against the edge of the hitching post. Sansa stood off to his left side and raised her face to the sky to drink in the sunlight. She smiled softly and then turned to him. 

“You chose well with this place. These woods are sweet and the Inn cozy.” She told him. 

Sandor made a general noise of assent and folded his arms over his chest. 

“Won't you perch on the rail, little bird?” Sandor asked, indicating the post beside him. 

Sansa smiled and declined saying “I will surely snag my skirt on a splinter.”

Sandor gave her something between a shrug and a scoff and surveyed the surrounding area. 

“I wanted to speak to you about sending a raven.” Sansa ventured boldly. “The only family I know I have left is at The Wall. There is certainly no reunion to be had, but I simply want to tell someone that I am still alive. Alive and well enough.” 

Sandor furrowed his brow in her direction and then resumed his inspection of the surrounding area. 

“I cannot risk that information getting out.” he replied gruffly. 

“Sandor, you can write the message yourself.” she said stepping directly in front of him and betraying some exasperation. “It is crass to ask, but what would it take on my part to convince you to allow this?” 

“There is nothing.” he responded, emotionlessly. Because there wasn't. No tears, begging, bargaining or favors from her would melt his heart. She was an asset and a risk, and he had to balance both to make them come out in his favor. Their's was a business arrangement and both new it. 

“We'll be in a city again in a few days.” she reminded him, reaching out to tenderly straighten his shirt. “Please think about it.” 

Sandor didn't answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Though I also dislike when authors request them, I am highly motivated by comments. Feedback helps with the creative process, especially since I don't know where I'm going, and praise never hurts either ;)   
> Thank you a million times over to my loyal readers.   
> -BurntO


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry its been forever!   
> -BurntO

The evening was much the same as the one before, Sansa seated by the fire with a glass of wine, mentoring the young girls as the men played cards and drank heavily. All were happy to sleep two nights in the same place and even Sandor looked content enough with his ale. Sansa lazily noted to herself that it marked three weeks since she had crossed paths with Sandor Clegane at the inn headed North. 

After that initial night together, she had awoken to find that one of her guards had fled in the night, likely back to Lord Baelish in the Veil and not to the Boltons, to report what had transpired. The other, Timon, had stayed and sheepishly joined at table the next morning the three men who followed Sandor.

Sansa had been nervous that morning as well. She had presented herself as gracious, though world weary. However in truth, she hadn't known what Sandor intended for her, other than to press her into his bed. That morning he made it clear he planned to take her along with him on his journey. 

They had left within the hour, and she had quickly learned her place. She was to ride beside him unless he directed one of the men to watch her. She shared his bedroll, and all of her coin joined the shared coffers, her finest dress quickly being traded off for supplies for the journey. 

He liked when she played the Lady, insisting on this or that bit of decorum, as barbaric as their circumstances were, to tease of laugh out of the men. He didn't mind when she got to know the men by asking after their upbringing, when she took charge of meals or hummed. He did mind when she prayed, when she asked about their plans or when she referenced in any way the relationship they had had in King's Landing. 

He had raised his hand at her only once, however, and he never landed the blow. 

But tonight they spent their second night by the fire at the inn, all content and well fed. 

As one of the men removed himself from the game of cards, needing to take a piss, and out of trinkets and coins he was willing to gamble, Sandor accepted the invitation to join. More ale was brought out at the request of the men, and the game became lively and rowdier. Sansa dismissed the girls up to bed as she finished going over the few letters they new.

As they left, Sansa rose and wandered behind Sandor to observe the game, placing her hands on his shoulders and bending down to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. She only half paid attention to the cards until a few rounds later when Sandor cursed and the others laughed as he was outbid by one of the men. 

“I'll wager one of the Lady's kisses then!” Sandor insisted dismissively to keep himself in the game.

Sansa froze for a moment, but quickly recovered. “You have clearly had too much to drink and forgotten that my kisses are not yours to give away.” she replied to Sandor's statement, forcing a laugh to match the men's, though she noted the way Sandor's face tightened. “But deal me in” she conceded, “and I'll wager one of my kisses for myself.” 

Sandor made room for her on his knee, visibly peeved but controlled, and the cards were dealt and revealed. Joseph won her kiss and Sansa made a show of looking to Sandor for permission before he waved her forward. She leaned across the table with puckered lips, more comical than romantic, and Joseph knew better than to request anything more. 

Shortly after that they all retired to their beds, and Sansa prepared herself for the fallout. 

“Must you really make these little shows of defiance every few days?” He asked with controlled frustration before the door to their room had even fully closed. 

“You may have the upper hand in our understanding, Sandor, but I hope I still have some say in the arrangement.” Sansa's voice began to rise involuntarily despite her preparation for the fight, but she fought to keep it calm and turned away from him to begin undressing. 

“That is not an answer. Why do you rebel? Because I have authority and you believe I should not exercise it, or because you mean to convince me that I have less control than I believe?” Sandor asked the back of her head, the bite of anger becoming more pronounced in his words. He began undressing as well when no answer was forthcoming. 

“I do not owe you anything.” Sansa finally responded softly, back still turned. 

Sandor threw his jacket on the bed in irritation. “Do you worry I begin to mistake your obedience for devotion?”

“It is important to me that we acknowledge the difference.” Sansa answered, finally turning to face him as she hung her dress on a peg and reached for his jacket to hang that as well. “You know that the men confuse my courtesy towards you for affection. I show you courtesy because I respect the integrity that you have displayed and because I am a Lady.” She paused, her voice hindered by his intense gaze, but plowed on as she could. “The easiness between us is beneficial, I am thankful for it. But you are not a hero simply because other men have been such villains and I-”

“There is clarity between us, is that not enough?” Sandor snarled, cutting her off. 

She was now only in her shift and stood awkwardly for a moment, unsure whether to answer, and Sandor filled the silence with activity as he sat on the edge of the bed and removed his boots and breeches. Sansa lay down and stared at the ceiling. 

When he blew out the candle and finally lay down beside her, she waited for him to reach for her. But for the first night in three weeks, he did not.


	5. I couldn't sleep....

….The heat and friction between his body and Sansa's. Her back pressed to his front. Her pelvis tilted and grinding against him slowly. 

This was how Sandor groggily reentered awareness. 

He was somewhat surprised to find that he was already moving against her body as well, and likely had been in his sleep. His mind was still foggy and he could barely see, but his partial return to consciousness seemed to have registered for Sansa, as she reached to pull his hand over and around her waist. He complied by gripping her hip, gaining more leverage to press them against one another, his member rubbing between her cheeks. 

Neither of them said a word, but their labored breathing was hot, loud and becoming more desperate. 

Still in something of a dream state, Sandor found himself pushing her over and onto her knees. Sansa complied eagerly, climbing onto all fours and hiking up her skirt as she went. 

Before he knew it, he was in her and trusting, holding nothing back, one hand braced on the bed, the other clinging to her shoulder. Sansa moaned and met his trusts, forehead in the pillows. It didn't take long before his seed was spilling into her and she was shuddering around him. 

Sandor rolled off of her, but it only took Sansa moments to find her way into the crook of his arm. He closed his eyes again, but was almost too tired to sleep. 

“What was that about?” he managed to ask between labored breaths. 

“I couldn't sleep.” She answered, also panting heavily, one arm across her eyes. 

It took them each a few minutes for their breath to even out, and eventually Sansa's took on the rhythm of sleep. Sandor, still in a fog, felt there was something he should be analyzing, but eventually he succumbed to the same needs as Sansa and slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long and is so short. I wrote my next chapter weeks ago and then had a computer crash and lost it and unfortunately was not fully able to recreate it. But the plot must be furthered and the smut must be had, so thought I would throw a bone as I try to get back on track! So hope you got at least SOMETHING out of the recreation attempt and hopefully now I'm back in the groove.   
> -Burnt O


	6. Negotiations

The next morning found the party back on horseback and headed south. 

Sandor put an extra coin in the hand of the innkeeper before they left, to buy his discretion regarding who had spent the last few nights under his roof, and they were off. 

Sandor felt he should further discuss the previous night's event with Sansa, but did not know how to broach the topic. She rode directly next to him and smiled winningly whenever he looked her way, but they made little conversation all morning.

At a stop around noon she entertained the men with teasing questions regarding their tastes in women. Insisting each one describe their perfect woman, she responded admiringly or with shock at their responses and ensured that all were engaged. It kept them well occupied and distracted, teasing and cheering one another. 

When Gannicus began to joke that his perfect woman was orange of hair, nobly bred and sturdy enough that she had surely been brought up in harsh and cold climates, Sandor did as was expected and hurled the nearest object at the man's head. The men all laughed while Sansa insisted that Gannicus could not be blamed for his good taste. 

As they continued on in the afternoon Sansa attempted to ignite conversation with Sandor. 

“My lord, is your morning sullenness yet burnt off?” she teased. “am I back in your good graces?”

“You never left my 'good graces',” came his plain answer, “though you felt the need to safeguard your position with your midnight romp.” 

Sansa blushed and turned her face away. “Next time I can't sleep I'll go for a walk instead.” 

“Don't.” He responded bluntly. “I know why you couldn't sleep. We reap what we sow, and it is my fault you felt you must ensure my patronage in such a way.” He could not keep the moodiness out of his voice. “We are all treated exactly as we deserve. All but you.” 

“Is that why you....favor me? Because you've dreamt that I alone am innocent?” She asked politely. 

“Innocent is the wrong word.” and with that he rode ahead to the front of the column. 

****** 

For the next few hours the party rode onward through rocky terrain, moving south parallel to the ocean, though the beach lay a half a day's ride west. 

As they crested a hill Sandor began to notice signs that they were not alone in these woods, but kept it to himself. They were beginning to enter areas with higher population and it would only make it harder to go unnoticed and unchallenged. He wasn't sure whose territory they were in but all would reveal itself in due course.

It happened quickly that they were surrounded by a large company of woodland soldiers, not lavishly outfitted or well disciplined, but with weapons that had seen use. 

Sandor rode forward, hands in the air, until a leader identified himself and moved forward to meet him. Sansa allowed herself to be surrounded by the other four men in their party while Sandor was in conference. After several minutes of their hushed deliberations and no movement, Sansa pushed her way forward to Sandor's side. 

The conversation trickled off as she rode up and the men all stared. Finally Sandor cleared his throat. 

“My Lady, we find ourselves on the lands of a Lannister banner man, Lord Fredrick.” 

“Excellent.” Sansa smiled. “I'm sure that Lord Fredrick will be delighted to offer us his hospitality this evening Captain...?” 

“...Thornwood.” the man who had ridden forward to meet Sandor replied uneasily. 

Sansa smiled and bowed her head in acknowledgement. “Lead on Captain Thornwood.” 

The man turned and signaled to his men and they all rode on. 

**** 

The settlement was a modest one. An outcropping of houses for craftsmen, a large stable, store house, servant's quarters and the two story family keep. The land around was actively farmed and seemed of good quality. It was already getting dark as as they arrived, the sun having set some time ago during their two hour ride with the band of thirty or so warriors. Their horses were led away to the stables and Sansa took Sandor's arm to be led inside. 

“Do you know this man?” She asked softly as they walked. 

“No.” Sandor replied. “But that doesn't mean he doesn't know us.” 

They were led into the deserted great hall and a servant was immediately sent for a plate of food and pitcher of wine while the Lord was fetched. The men were led to the kitchen. Sansa seated herself on a high backed chair at the end of one of the tables while Sandor paced. 

Eventually the food and drink were delivered and shortly after Lord Fredrick arrived, a man of 60 years or so. His clothing was of good quality but not regal in any sense of the word. He had a few pieces of ornament, a ring and a chain around his neck, as though to remind others he was their Lord as there was little occasion to celebrate it. 

When he walked in and saw Sandor it showed clearly on his face that the man in his hall was who he had suspected, based on the report of his captain. When he turned and saw Sansa he raised an eyebrow. 

“My Lady ...Lannister, how fortunate we are to have you visit! We had all wondered what had happened to you!”

“You may call me 'My lady' or 'Lady Stark', I no longer claim the name of Lannister.” Sansa responded politely. 

“Do you so scorn the great house? A family to which this House, and the House Clegane are committed?” He asked with an edge of trickery to his voice. 

“My Lord husband is no longer encouraged to carry the name, so I imagine it is no longer mine to wear either.” Sansa answered diplomatically. “But Lannister is surely a nobel name. The next litter of kittens I cross I shall make sure there is one named Lannister amongst the bunch.” she answered with a conciliatory, though somewhat sarcastic tone.

“May I ask what occurrences have brought you to this place?” The older man asked, his gaze moving from Sansa to Sandor and back. 

“We are traveling to the keep of my family.” Sandor answered. “That is all. No other agenda.” 

“And so I find you crossing my lands.” Fredrick mused. “I am truly blessed by the Seven to have so high born a Lady under my roof, and her party so in need of my... endorsement.” 

Sansa glanced at Sandor's tight face and they both paused, calculating how to answer. 

“Truly, my Lord, we are most appreciative of your dispensation to allow us clear passage through these lands.” Sansa finally answered delicately. 

The older man chuckled to himself. “Yes, with proper provocation I shall supply you with the paperwork to travel freely from here to Kayce. But there is some opportunity here. I should hope we are all willing to take advantage of it.” 

Sansa looked to Sandor with troubled eyes for a moment and then turned her attention to arranging her skirts and pouring herself a glass of wine. 

“Tell us what it is that you want for your hospitality Lord Fredrick.” Sandor insisted plainly, stepping forward to pour himself a glass of wine as well. “I also trust that you realize it is not in your interest to send a raven to King's Landing. It will only draw unwanted attention.” 

“Yes, yes.” The man looked them both over and settled back in his chair. “Too much goes on there and I would rather keep apart from it.... But I yet hope to make a good match for my eldest son.” Sandor scoffed openly while Sansa merely pursed her lips. “No, no,” the man replied in answer to their assumption. “I have no hope of a match with a Stark, or a Lannister, whatever she is. But to have Lady Sansa on his arm publicly at banquet tomorrow night would not hurt his standing with other families of good coin in the area.”

Sansa looked decidedly at the wall behind Lord Fredrick's head and waited for Sandor to answer. 

“That is what you want? Lady Sansa to sit with your son at a banquet?” Sandor asked, disbelieving. 

“For starters.” the old man answered, now drinking liberally from his glass. “She will enter on his arm, dance, show admiration, drink seated on his knee-”

“I will do no such thing.” Sansa interrupted sharply, eyes snapping up the face of their host. “If you wish to give the appearance of the approval of a high and nobel House, than do not expect me to behave as though I were born to one other.” she articulated icily. 

Both men stood somewhat in shock at her insistence, but maintained neutral faces. In the wake of their silence Sansa continued. 

“I will walk in on the arm of your son. During the meal I shall speak with him as though in confidence. I shall dance two dances with him at proper distance. Then he may kiss my hand and I will retire to my chamber.” 

She looked over at Sandor, visibly shaking somewhat after her speech. The room sat in tense silence. 

“This is insufficient.” Lord Frederick insisted softly to Sandor, refusing to acknowledge Sansa's glare.

Sansa shifter her glare to Sandor, awaiting his response. Sandor turned away from them both to pace the room. 

“After the banquet Lady Sansa will return with my son to his chambers. At the banquet she can behave as she's said.” the Lord finally declared, as though in compromise. 

“Or we can leave now.” Sandor responded over his shoulder. 

The old man weighed the threat. “I believe you could fight your way out of my house with the northern girl. But you would have to be quick, no time to grab supplies and some of your things have already been brought to guest chambers for the night. And all of your men may not make it out either...” 

Sandor kicked a chair that stood by the door.

“And if you do things as I wish I shall send you with replenished supplies and a decree offering you safe passage through the region.” 

Sandor continued to pace while Sansa clenched her hands in her lap and bit the inside of her lip. 

“FINE.” Sandor finally acquiesced. “We will join you tomorrow and the Lady will do as you've asked. But have your servants prepare everything tomorrow for our departure as we will leave at dawn the next morning.” 

“Done.” Lord Fredrick said with a smile, rising and offering Sandor his hand. Grudgingly Sandor took it as Sansa stood and swept out of the room. 

“She'll put on a better face tomorrow?” the Lord asked. 

“She will.” Sandor assured him.


	7. I have no illusions

Sandor jogged down the corridor to catch up to Sansa and the servant who had clearly intercepted her when she left the hall. Sansa glanced over her shoulder to confirm who pursued her and turned her attention back to the servant. 

“I trust that I've been provided with private accommodations.” she stated matter of factly. 

The serving woman dithered as they reached a turn. “The men suggested that you and the kni-”

“I'm not a bloody knight!” Sandor snapped from a few paces back. 

Sansa shot him a look filled with distain and annoyance. “I will require my own room. Lord Clegane can stay with the other men.” 

The woman glanced at Sandor for confirmation. He ignored her. She continued to lead them a few more yards to a door, for which she produced a key, and busied herself with opening it. Sansa avoided making eye contact as the woman fussed. When she opened the door Sansa swept in and Sandor had to lurch forward to catch the door before it could slam. 

“Bring the Lady a plate of food, then you can see me to the kitchen.” he growled at the woman, pushing his way into the chamber as she scuttled off. 

When he entered Sansa was calmly standing by the bed removing her cloak.

He leaned uneasily against the wall and crossed his arms. “Speak.” he commanded. 

Sansa kept her gaze ahead. “What about?” 

Sandor snorted. 

“We are quarreling again.” she responded, now emotionless. “It is not the first nor the last time it will happened, I imagine.” she commented with lethal serenity. “You have a reputation, after all.” 

“Don't try that with me, girl.” he warned. 

“For the sake of the Seven.” Sansa responded exasperatedly, finally facing him. “Though you have never lived as I have, I had hoped you could imagine.” 

Sandor became annoyed. “Never in luxury? Never depending upon my smile and well known name to get me out of any sticky situation?” 

Sansa seemed to struggle with herself for a moment but regained composure. 

“My Lord, I humbly request that you leave, NOW.” 

“NO.” Sandor's voice was low, but adamant. “Say what you intended.” 

“I have said all I intend.” she insisted. 

“Not nearly.” He replied. 

The look Sansa shot him barely disguised her disgust. 

“Do you understand my predicament, but hold no pity for it?” She shook her head and turned her gaze back to the work of undressing.

“The thing that has been denied me my entire life has been the knowledge of self sufficiency. I must ensure the interest of another in protecting and providing for me.” Sandor stared at her blankly, but she refused to turn her head. 

Sansa removed her dress as the silence stretched and sat on the edge of the bed in her shift to remove her riding boots. Finally she looked up at him. 

“I enjoy our coupling, Sandor, more than I had ever hoped to with a man. But even with you it can never just be that for me...and...” She shook her head. “Last night you suggested that I rebel against you to somehow balance the power dynamic between us, as though I'm making some play in a game. You could force me to bed every man in this keep, I have no illusions about that. But you wouldn't. I'm not sure you would force me to bed you – though I've been too cowardly to test the theory...” 

They stood in silence until the serving woman returned. 

Sansa stood and walked over to the wash basin as the woman put out food and drink for her. 

“Prepare the letter we spoke of yesterday.” Sandor commanded as he turned to follow the servant out of the room. “I'll see to it that it's sent.”


	8. Chapter 8

**** NOW****   
Sansa slept poorly again that night, reliving her conversation with Sandor. She surmised that over the past three weeks she had stopped playing the game. Something about him made her drop her guard. It wasn't difficult for her to understand what, but it was still unacceptable. 

 

**THEN***   
During her first day on the road with her newest captor she had found herself leading several horses down to a creek bed to drink as Sandor and the men performed other activities in preparation for midday meal. 

There has been a few moments in the flurry of activity up the embankment that had left not a man in sight, but she had observed in herself that there was no inclination to jump on one of the horses and ride away. Of course she had had such opportunities before, with other captors, and never acted on it, but always before there had been the thought.

Only moments later she had seen Sandor's face reenter view with a glance down at her to secure her whereabouts. 

That evening, after they had finished the evening meal and it was fully dark Sandor had picked up a large bedroll and walked away from the fire. She had somewhat anxiously followed, the men making no comment on their departure. When her steps had caught up to his, he had stopped and was rolling out a woven carpet for them to lay on.

Without hesitation or roughness he had pulled her into his arms and kissed her heavily. She had been thankful his direction was so easy to follow and simply submitted to the kiss. As with their first night together she had felt a foreign sense of being admired. Instinctively she had reach up to hold him, though her hands could barely clasp behind his neck, such was his proportion. 

He had enveloped her, pressing her towards the ground, and she had complied. This night he had not asked after her comfort or readiness. He had simply knelt between her legs and taken her on her back, kissing her repeatedly in worship, before spilling his seed inside her. After a few minutes of recovery laying on his side, he had pressed her onto her side as well so that he could take her from behind. 

The second time she had found herself in enjoyment and had wondered at his virility and the naturalness of their coupling; whether it had been because it was their second night together, or because of their position under the starts. She had felt safe and had almost smiled at the irony. Perhaps it made sense that since all the men who had manipulated and controlled her since her father's death had claimed to protect her virtue while abusing her, it was the man who seemed to do the opposite whom she trusted most. 

****NOW**** 

Sandor didn't see her the next morning, though before lunch a serving woman brought him a rolled scroll “from the Lady, as requested.” 

He didn't read it, simply slipped it into his pocket to send north to the wall at another time. It would not do to send it from here and have it read by unwanted eyes, especially when they had already lost the advantage of moving south unidentified.

The same serving woman approached Timon to request a few items out of Sansa's saddlebags, including the finest gown Sandor had allowed her to keep, and her remaining jewelry. 

After lunch Sandor set to roaming the outcropping of buildings, pausing here and there. Eventually he wandered into the healer's shop and inquired after several innocuous drugs, ones known to be kept in every household including moon tea to keep a man's seed from taking root in a woman, and one for sleep, strong, but not uncommon. 

As dinner approached he gathered his men and ordered them to make themselves presentable for the evening's festivities. In slightly more hushed tones he advised that they would depart early the next morning, so not to enjoy themselves too much or be led astray. 

He did not bother to visit Sansa, wishing at the very least to respect her privacy for a few hours. When the bell for the feast rang he sauntered into the hall where everyone from the surrounding area was congregating. A herald announced the names of a few families that he supposed were notable to these country bumpkins, though they would not have merited an invitation to any party he would have been forced to attend in King's Landing. 

Lord Fredricks and his wife were announced last, proceeded by his son, called Johann, with Sansa on his arm who was identified as “Lady Sansa Stark née Lannister.” 

The two couples settled at the high table and Sansa only looked at Sandor for a moment, seemly to confirm that he was present. Conversation broke on the room and everyone settled in for the feast. Sandor observed Sansa's name on the lips of many guests, but no undue scuttle. 

During the third course when the dancing started Sandor made his way to the center of the head table to pay his respects. This was not at all uncommon, as the founders of the feast were inundated with guests throughout. Sandor, however, did not approach the table from the front, but from the back, to kneel beside the chair of Lady Stark. As he lowered himself he slid a packet of herbs under her leg. Sansa adjusted herself slightly to allow for this as she turned to greet Sandor with a wide smile. 

“My Lord, I trust you are enjoying yourself.” 

“As much as I ever enjoyed such occasions.” he responded gruffly, knowing she was aware of his distaste for feasts. 

In a softer voice he continued “I see that you have wanted for nothing and do not need me here. Be sure that your dining partner is equally well taken care of. We will leave early in the morning, so be ready when I come for you.” 

Sansa nodded and Sandor pushed himself back up to his feet. He had knelt on Sansa's left side, but Johann sat on her right. He crossed behind her to greet the boy, who turned in his chair to look up at the man. He was around the age of 20, only a few years the girl's senior, and good looking enough. He did not have his father's brash air, though he was also far from timid. 

“It is an honor to meet the well known second son of House Clegane.” Johann offered diplomatically. 

“My reputation has always proceeded me, know that it is well deserved.” Sandor answered neutrally. “Enjoy your evening, young lord.” he extended his hand to clasp forearms and knocked over the lordling's goblet of wine. 

He immediately apologized, though made no move to assist in rectifying the spill. He saw Sansa's dainty hand reach to pick up the upended goblet and heard her call for a serving girl to bring a jug to refill it. Keeping his eyes on the boy as he settled himself, Sandor apologized again, grasped hands with the slightly perturbed nobel and turned to walk away, just as Sansa offered the man's cup back to him, refilled by her hand. 

Back amongst the crowd, Sandor shared a drink with Joseph and Gannicus, watching Sansa and Johann drink as well. They came out to dance once dance and Sandor wasn't sure if he imagined that the boy look tired or not. Sandor hoped the girl had the sense to get the young lord out of the room sooner rather than later. It seemed she was more crafty than he imagined, as he didn't even notice them leave. Fighting his instinct, he did nothing when he realized they had left. 

******* 

By the time they reached the doorway to her chambers, the young lord was already leaning on her for support. The feelings of his hands heavy on her shoulders was repulsive, but the evidence of his impending unconsciousness motivated her as she hurried them along to the bed, where within moments his eyes were drifting shut. 

Sansa let out a heavy sigh and turn to look around and make sure there was no one else in the room. A few servants had trailed them out of the great hall but she had easily dismissed them, confident they would report to the lord of the household that she and his son were for the bedchamber. 

She did not know what to think of Sandor's rather simple solution, but figured that if what the lord wanted was for his son to be able to brag of having bagged the pelt of such a high lady, he could invent such tales just fine. 

She changed back into her riding dress and prepared the few things she had as best she could and then lay for a few hours of rest as far away from the sleeping boy as possible. 

****   
It had only been a few hours when she woke to see him standing in the doorway. She wondered if he had made a noise or not. Silently she grabbed her things and went to him, taking his hand as they walked out the door. He looked down at their interlocked fingers for a moment and then paused to pull her into an embrace. She complied happily, taking a deep breath of his scent, before following him on to the stables. Their four men were already there with saddled horses and mounted up when Sandor and Sansa arrived. A few servants observed them go, but no one stopped them and they were on the road yet an hour before the rise of the sun.


End file.
